


alone together

by Nyxierose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 17:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21431728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: “You balance me. Without either of us, the system breaks. Together...”Or, a little bit of plausible backstory, set a month ish before the start of season 1.
Relationships: Abby Griffin/Marcus Kane
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	alone together

She wanders at night.

She justifies it. She did this before Everything Caught Fire, before she was widowed, before she created this hell she now lives in. A lifelong habit, on the nights her brain won’t shut up enough to let her sleep when she should. Abby is the right combination of nondescript and likable to get away with long walks in places that make no sense for whatever hour it is, and routine is in her favor. The overnight patrols in her usual territory have been manned by the same people for the past five years, and all of them are _probably _aware of who she is and just scared enough of her to let her be.

She wanders at night because there are 2600 other people in this floating tin can she calls home and she has only recently discovered how alone one person can be.

She’s had her same loops for twenty years, since a week after she got married and she learned her new home’s proximities to everything else. They let her keep the space after... after...

Her own loss doesn’t matter, she tells herself as she decides to go for a walk in hopes it will calm her. She, as one singular person out of so many, does not matter.

These are the thoughts she tries to outrun, as she silently moves down familiar hallways. There are a few quiet places she knows where she could sit alone at this hour, and one in particular feels appealing. One of the observation decks, a space she’s heard may be shut off soon for conservation purposes. Depending on how much of a fight that turns into in a few days, this may be her last chance to brood there.

She slips through and finds the space occupied, and she wishes she were surprised.

2600 people. Abby repeats the number to herself, trying to find comfort in it. Out of so many, she knows she is not the only person who has trouble sleeping. Nor is she the only person of her status who knows the good hiding places. Statistically, that’s impossible. There are a few others she’s run into more than a few times over the years, for the most part people she knows in passing but would not describe as friends. And then there’s the one who isn’t.

Exactly what Marcus is to her, she can’t pin down. They’ve driven each other crazy on a consistent basis since they were children - she remembers the day they met, she was eleven and he was thirteen, and nothing has changed in the last thirty years. Too similar for their own good, both trying to outrun parental reputations, both forced to become people they were never meant to be. In a different world, they would’ve married young, but she chose someone calmer instead and-

Now is a terrible time to think about that particular what-if, she reminds herself, noting the flask in his hand. That path did not happen. She could pursue it now, if she wanted, but she cannot, she won’t-

She takes a step forward, trips on a bad floor seam, falls. Maybe this room _should_ be closed off, it’s dangerous and-

He’s lucid enough to process the noise - that’s a good start, she thinks in the heartbeat before he crosses the space to help her up. That too is a pleasant surprise. They find each other every so often in these sorts of situations, and she’s pieced together his preferred coping mechanism on bad nights. What counts as moderation for him and what doesn’t. This must be early in the process for him, early enough that he’s still-

“Are you hurt?”

The man she’s fashioned into her nemesis is kneeling in front of her, offering his free hand. She has spent years convincing herself he is incapable of any form of kindness, especially towards her. In her worst moments, she knows better.

Abby looks up, not quite meeting his eyes, and nods. “Wasn’t watching my feet,” she murmurs, justifying herself. “Bruises don’t matter.”

He laughs - not _at_ her, she is sure, yet amused by her responses. “You’re normally more graceful.”

“You’re normally more of a dick.”

She curls her body into a more comfortable position. She is damned well not touching him, and she meant to stop here for a while anyways, and-

“You didn’t answer my question.”

There are a few ways she’d like to, now that she thinks about it. The fuck-you is thoroughly implied, frustration burning through her like fire, but it’s deeper than that. She hasn’t let herself feel pain - or much of anything else - in almost a year. She chose to deal with her tragedy by not dealing, and no one questioned that, and she wishes someone _had_, and-

“You don’t care,” she counters. “You’re half-drunk in a hiding place and I ruined your attempt at self-destruction, and you’ll say whatever it takes to get me gone. You don’t care about me.”

Maybe it’s the bad lighting, or perhaps how tired she is, but Marcus looks hurt. That’s new on him, unfamiliar. Any other night like this, she’d find out what had set him off and make sure any weapons on his person were placed somewhere that would require sober effort to retrieve. But tonight his implosion seems to be in a different form, and it worries her, and-

“Pointing out when you’re wrong doesn’t mean I don’t like you,” he replies. His voice is low and cautious, his body now comfortably opposite her on the floor. “I wouldn’t do that with anyone else.”

“Yeah,” she mutters. “I’m special. I know.”

“You balance me. Without either of us, the system breaks. Together...”

“If you’re trying to seduce me, I’m not that desperate.”

“Nor am I. And if that was the intent... do you have any idea how many security cameras there are in this room?”

“Not offhand, but I’m guessing more than I want to think about?”

“Something like that.” He takes a drink, offers the flask to her, accepts her refusal. “But it’s quiet. At least it’s quiet.”

“And it makes you easy to find on the bad nights.”

“Whereas _you_ are chaotic. I think half the night patrol think you’re a ghost and the other half are getting there.”

“Guess I’m not as invisible as I thought?” she laughs. She’s amazed by how easy it is to fall into this dynamic with him. They won’t speak of it come morning, and she doubts he’ll remember it even happened, but in their respective damages...

“Every culture needs an urban legend or three,” he murmurs. “You’re not the worst mythical creature we could have.”

They sit in silence for a while, until her heart calms. Not touching, not speaking, not pretending to be anything they’re not. Alone together, and almost better for it.

“I need to sleep,” she says after a while, getting to her feet. “You should too.”

“I probably won’t,” he counters. “But thank you, for...”

“I didn’t do anything at all. Don’t convince yourself otherwise.”


End file.
